Dicey's Song by Cynthia Voigt Page B

Gram stopped as suddenly as she had begun.
    Dicey felt as if Gram had been hitting at her, punch, punch, punch. “Millie can’t read,” she announced, following her own thoughts. “Not much, not like she should.”
    â€œShe told you that? She’d never admit it to me. We were girls in school together.”
    â€œI know,” Dicey said.
    â€œMaybeth’s not like Millie,” Gram said.
    How had Gram known that was a question in Dicey’s mind. “Are you sure?”
    â€œSure,” Gram told Dicey. “But — ”
    At that moment their turn to pay came, and Gram just said, “We’ll talk about it over lunch. Think about it, meanwhile.”
    They had to go to another department for long-sleeved shirts for the little kids. Dicey already had all the made-over shirts she needed. Gram made quick selections, plain colors for Maybeth, and striped for the boys. They got into another line. “Sammy’s work is all right,” Gram reported. “She told me I was lucky to have such a quiet, well-behaved grandson, because boys could be such hellions. She said if only every boy in the class had Sammy’s attitude.”
    â€œWell.” Dicey was surprised. She was glad that was all right. “He hasn’t always been that way,” she told Gram, relieved.
    â€œHe still isn’t,” Gram said, then snapped her mouth shut.
    Dicey felt her shoulders sag. It wasn’t because they were tired, or she was tired. The bags they got were big, but not heavy. She thought she had a good idea what Gram was thinking. Sometimes she almost wished she didn’t have any brothers and sisters. “How about James? Was James’s teacher pleased with him?”
    Gram had her purse open to pay, and she put bills into the salesclerk’s hand before she answered. Dicey almost told Gram not to bother saying, unless it was something good.
    â€œOh yes. He says what we all — including James — know, that he’s unusually intelligent. He says James’s work was better at the beginning of the year, but the other kids caught up with him pretty quickly. He especially mentioned James report. He showed it to me.”
    â€œJames got an A,” Dicey said.
    â€œIt wasn’t the same report he showed us,” Gram said.
    Dicey took the bag, jammed it into the bigger one that held the jeans and did not answer.
    Back in the center of the mall, Gram looked about her. “Lunch,” she said. She led Dicey back, along the length of the building, to the other end, where there stood a two-story department store. There was a restaurant, too, right by the entrance, a real restaurant where there was a special waitress who asked how many you were and led you to a table.
    â€œBut Gram,” Dicey protested. They had seen a couple of hamburger stands.
    Gram ignored her. The waitress gave them a table by a window that looked out to the center of the mall. “Put those bags down,” Gram instructed Dicey.
    Dicey obeyed, jamming the bags up against the wall.
    â€œThis is my treat, for me,” Gram said, looking around with satisfaction. She opened the menu and looked at it.
    Dicey followed suit. She studied the prices. She found the three cheapest things and then looked to see what they were. When Gram asked her what she wanted, she said, “Spaghetti.”
    Gram stared at her over the top of the menu.
    â€œI like spaghetti,” Dicey said.
    â€œMy rule is, when you go to a restaurant, you have something you don’t get at home,” Gram announced. “I’m going to have a club sandwich and I advise you to do the same.”
    Dicey skimmed around for a club sandwich, to see how much it cost. “Why?” she asked, playing for time.
    â€œBecause it tastes good,” Gram said, folding her menu firmly onto the table. “I know what you’re thinking, girl, and with the amount of money we’re spending today this